


Ripped Fuel

by military_bluebells



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode: s01e06 Stay Frosty, Episode: s01e07 Bomb in the Garden, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Ripped Fuel, Set in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24821920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/pseuds/military_bluebells
Summary: He was also assured that what he said will come back to bite him and his men. He needs to be braced for the impact, which could come at any time, day or night, and that means uppers.
Relationships: Nate Fick/Ray Person
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	Ripped Fuel

**Author's Note:**

> Loose Lips Sink Ships: Nate/Ray - Nate pops some Ripped Fuel and it's Ray's job to unfuck this situation per Brad's orders.

Nate knows he shouldn’t even be thinking about this, but Casey Kasum’s slight against his men is still fresh in his mind. It was a stupid, careless mistake that cost some of his men precious resting time. The image of Stinetorf falling to his knee to vomit and Doc Bryan's furious expression replay in his mind as he stares out of the Humvee windscreen. 

He was also assured that what he said will come back to bite him and his men. He needs to be braced for the impact, which could come at any time, day or night, and that means uppers. 

Nate sighs and pushes himself out of his seat. If he wants Ripped Fuel, his best bet is Ray. He sighs again: Ray’s Ripped Fuel consumption has been at a steady high since the beginning of the invasion. Nate wants to be angry with him for putting his life at risk but that would make him a hypocrite, something Ray wouldn’t hesitate to point out. They also haven’t had much time alone since stepping off and even before then it had been limited, DADT looming more heavily in the AO than at home. 

The last thing he wants to use that precious time for is an argument. 

He walks down the line, grimacing at the sound of retching as he passes 2-3. When he gets to 2-1 Alpha, there’s a calm quiet surrounding it: he passes where Walt and the Reporter have dug in, both fast asleep, and past Trombley, curled peacefully in the back of the Humvee. He leans against the window edge and Ray brightens, grinning at him, the hook pressed between his ear and shoulder. Nate glances over to where Brad is slumped against the doorframe, his eyes closed, and relaxes. 

“Weird, isn’t it? I was beginning to think he was a Vampire,” Ray says cheekily, though his voice is quiet, even as he mimics Dracula’s accent. Nate smirks, holding in a laugh. Ray’s still grinning as he asks, “So, what brings you to my humble United States issued shitbox?” 

Nate checks once more that everyone is asleep, and decides to be blunt, “I need some Ripped Fuel.” 

Ray’s eyes widen comically, and his mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Nate waits patiently and after another second Ray says, a little too loudly for comfort, “What the fuck?” Nate gives him a warning look and Ray’s volume decrease, “No offence but I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Do I need to remind you that I’m an officer, that should have reported your intake weeks ago?” Nate says sharply. His stomach drops and he knows he’s fucked up even before Ray’s face twists and his eyes narrow. 

“Apologies sir, take whatever the fuck you want.” 

Nate winces and says softly, “Ray-” 

“It’s fine, what’s a little blackmail between buddies, but _Lieutenant_ , you’re gonna have to make that an order.” 

Nate can almost hear the thin ice he’s on cracking underneath him. When they’d started their relationship, Nate had been keenly aware of the power imbalance between them. He’d tortured himself during sleepless nights, thinking about all the accidental – serious – harm he could do. In a rare occurrence, Ray had been the sane one, laying out the issue and its solutions plainly. They’d agreed that Lieutenant Fick and Corporal Person were separate to Nate and Ray and acted under separate rules. 

He should have approached the Humvee as Lieutenant Fick: it would have made this much simpler. 

Painfully aware that Ray is waiting, Nate chooses his words carefully, “Ray, I’m not going to order you, and you know that, but I need you to understand that my job is to look after this platoon. I know just you’re looking out for me and I appreciate it – a lot – but I’m not the main concern right now.” Ray stiffens, ready to argue. Nate usually loves the complex, educated debates he can have with Ray but right now he wishes Ray wasn’t so good at them. His only bet is to cut him off, which is what he does by lifting his hand. “I know Ray.” Nate says placidly, “but I will say that it’s the same reason you’re using to justify your use.” 

“That was fucking dirty by the way,” Ray says bluntly but he picks the bottle up off the top of the dashboard and offers it to Nate. He pulls it back when Nate reaches for it and leans close, “Don’t overdo it Nate, promise me.” 

“I promise.” Nate says earnestly. Ray nods and drops the bottle onto into Nate’s hand, looking away. Nate sighs at the cold shoulder – he hadn’t pulled his punches he knows – and reach over to put his hand on Ray’s shoulder. Ray doesn’t shove it off, but he doesn’t welcome it either. “I’m sorry.” He says softly. 

Ray turns and looks at him with an unimpressed expression, “I know you’re trying to spare my soft fucking feelings but you’re not.” 

Nate’s shoulders drop without his permission. He hates how good Ray is at that, at looking straight through him. Guilt churns in his stomach and in a truly reckless move, he presses a kiss behind Ray’s ear. Ray doesn’t look at him, but he seems less stiff. Nate would try again to apologise – because he is sorry for implying, well, everything he has – but his time is up, people are starting to change watch down the line, and he knows it's worthless with the Ripped Fuel still in his hand. 

“Get some sleep Ray,” 

“Don’t tell me what you to do LT.” It’s a petty jab, but Nate can’t really say anything so he walks away, the bottle of Ripped Fuel heavy in his pocket. 

  


* * *

Nate can’t sleep. 

It shouldn’t be surprising since he’d taken some of Ray’s Ripped Fuel not four hours ago, but it’s still a weird experience. He feels tired enough to sleep for a week, but he can’t keep his eyes closed for long than a minute at a time, and there’s this itch inside of him that won’t let him sit still. After the fifth time his repositions, trying to get comfy in the limited space of the passenger seat, Mike looks over at him, 

“Do I need to take you for a walk like my five-year-old niece?” He asks, raising one eyebrow. 

Nate sighs, leaning back against the seat. He won’t be able to sleep for at least another hour, and they’re in the relative safety of a POG camp for now, so the only thing he’s doing is making sure his Gunny doesn’t get any sleep either. 

“No, I can walk myself.” He replies, pushing his door open. 

Mike nods, but Nate can feel the suspicion, “Don’t party for too long Nate, dunno what’s around the corner.” Nate nods. He wanders for a time, passing the slit-trench latrines and proper tents. He snorts, shaking his head. POGs. 

Most of Bravo 2 are asleep, though they seem to be maintaining twenty-five percent watch despite the fact they’re in a POG camp. Actually, when Nate thinks about it, that’s probably the reason why. His feet carry him towards 2-1 Alpha, and he sighs. He and Ray had little to do with each other today, other than orders over the net or simple instructions at the roadblock. Thinking back, Ray had just followed his order to contact Godfather without comment, which means he’s in a river of shit. He lets himself close the distance to their Humvee, ready for Ray to make him grovel just a bit. 

When he gets close enough, however, he can see Ray’s head resting against the door frame, his eyes closed, asleep. He slows, considering where to go since he would’t wake Ray up for anything less than the apocalypse, when Brad saddles up beside him. 

“It’s almost cute, until you realise they’re probably dreaming of fucking Thai whores or, in Person’s case, some sort of farm animal.” 

Nate snorts, and doesn’t let his mind wander to who Ray actually fucks. That’s been another problem he’s been experiencing since he started with the amphetamines, his mind seems to wander to Ray and how he looks spread out on Nate’s bed, skin flushed, and lips parted. He shakes the thought off before he embarrasses himself. Brad has an eyebrow raised when Nate looks at him so he shrugs, “Whatever keeps them happy.” 

Brad leans against the hood of the Humvee with folded arms, leaving a clear space beside him. Nate smiles to himself and leans against the Humvee next to him. He can see Ray’s figure over his shoulder and he lets himself glance at him. Ray’s dead to the world, his infinity scarf tucked up to his chin, thick eyelashes on his cheeks. Nate has to pull his eyes away before they tell all over the place – Ray’s words. In front of him is a much less pleasing sight, bright bursts of light on the horizon, which would be pretty if he didn’t know that with each one more civilians are lost to ‘collateral damage’. 

“Man, they’re prepping Baghdad hard.” 

“And we’re in a fucking POG camp.” Nate looks over at Brad. “It’s over for us, we won’t be part of the show in Baghdad.” 

Nate turns away and nods, “Yup.” A plume of bright light erupts from the city, the following boom echoing loud enough for them to hear it easily. 

“This isn’t what we trained for.” Brad says blankly. “I just wanted to get one, real recon mission in this war, you know?” Brad turns to him, a look of dissatisfaction passing over his face. “Putting us in _these_ is an affront to my warrior spirit. I’m a hunter not a fucking truck driver corralling gun platforms.” Nate can feel laughter bubbling up inside him but he presses his lips together, because for all Brad’s words sound like a joke, there isn’t the usual air of amusement he has when yanking on Nate’s chain, about Phuket whores and lube or other things. 

“Brad, we were the fucking first boots on the ground in the American Invasion of Mesopotamia,” He says, quietly, hyperaware that Ray’s not the heaviest of sleepers, “and you got your men out alive.” 

That in itself is a miracle, considering everything that has happen. He knows that it was pure dumb luck that saved them that night at the bridge, that he should have pushed back against the no-foot-patrol. Hindsight is clearer than he’s comfortable with. 

“You might be sad about not getting your mission but for me… I got to tell you, I’m glad this is over.” The fucked-up thing: eight months ago, during SERE, being Recon had been the thing he wanted. The independence, the skilled men, the missions. Instead, he got the opposite, over-bearing commanders, simple fuckups and no missions that even remotely made sense. Brad stares at him, and Nate supposes he wouldn’t understand: Ray says that Brad’s a career through and through. Combat in whatever form, _is_ his life not just a part of it. 

“One other thing,” Nate says, breaking the tense silence, “no more cat holes. This fucking POG camp we’re in has a legit slit-trench latrine.” Nate smiles, tilting his head back, “Really.” 

Brad looks at him, then focus on the horizon, “That’s my recon mission then.” He says plainly. When he turns however, he cracks a wide grin that Nate can’t help but mirror. He pushes off the hood and Nate does the same, looking over again at Ray, who’s still asleep. He wants to reach out and do… something but now isn’t the time and he can feel the artificial high wearing off so he moves away before he does something stupid. Again. 

  


* * *

Ray’s leaning back against a Humvee wheel, his boonie covering his face. His burns always itch when they've been in the sun too long, but he’s not going to stoop to using Rudy’s all-natural, Qi-infused, fairy cream. Something bumps against his foot and he kicks it away. It bumps against him again so he pulls off his boonie and glares up into the sun. Brad’s looming figure blocks it out and Ray raises an eyebrow. Brad stares at him and Ray lowers his brows until they scrunch up. 

“Okay, what’s been fucked up now? Did Trombley get his dick stuck in something?” 

Brad crouches and grins, “No, and I’m disturbed to know that you’ve been thinking about Trombley’s dick.” He leans closer, “I don’t think the LT would approve of that.” 

Ray rolls his eyes, “Weak Brad. Besides, we’re going through a rough patch or whatever those reality TV pussies call it, so I don’t think he could give a fuck.” 

Brad leans even closer, so that his face is right next to Ray’s ear, “Is this why the LT is suddenly on Ripped Fuel?” 

“Careful Brad, someone might think it’s us two ‘knocking boots’.” 

“That’s not an answer.” Brad looked at him pointedly. 

Ray sighs and rubs one of his eyes, “Look, Nate asked me for them, I told him he shouldn’t. He pointed out that I was being hypocritical, and it wasn’t a _Corporal’s_ place to question a _Lieutenant_.” 

Brad grimaces. Ray looks away, biting at the inside of his cheek. He happens to look across at Nate’s Humvee, where he’s leaning over a map with the Gunny. Before he would have enjoyed the curve of Nate’s _very_ nice ass, but now he looks away. He’s being a teenage girl, getting caught up on this. 

“Ray, I don’t- this is-” 

“Don’t pull a muscle homes, I get it.” 

Brad sits back on his ass and says seriously, “You need to fix this Ray.” 

“You think I don’t know that.” Ray shoots back. 

Brad stares at him, looking constipated. It means that the great Iceman is out of his depth, and Ray would laugh, but he doesn’t really have the energy. He looks back across the field to Nate and finds him looking their way. Their eyes meet and Ray doesn’t know what to do. Nate looks away first, visibly deflating. Ray knocks his head against the rim, ignoring Brad’s look, and turns to the cloudless sky. 

“Fix it Ray.” Brad says lamely. Ray thinks it’s supposed to be an order, but Brad isn’t stupid enough to try that shit with Ray. He’d thought Nate wasn’t either. Brad stands up and gives him another constipated-worried look before retreating to the newly fixed Walt. Ray doesn’t blame him; he doesn’t want to deal with his shit either. 

  


* * *

Ray sighs and rubs at his eyes. Brad took Trombley on a field trip to clear the surrounding ground for intrenched Iraqi’s, leaving him and Walt to babysit Reporter. He hears a clunk and flops back to look at Walt. 

“Are you going to lecture me as well?” he asks, aware of Reporter sitting pretty in the backseat. 

Walt shrugs, “I was just gonna ask if you’re okay.” 

“Peachy.” 

Walt nods, slaps Ray’s chest and stands back on the turret. That’s what he likes about Walt, he’s easy, trusts Ray to come to him if he needs to. Brad on the other hand – when not otherwise occupied – has been looking constipated in his direction at every opportunity. Ray’s been ignoring it, and ignoring Nate as much as he can, mostly because he doesn’t have the energy to deal with it all and he hasn’t had a moment to plan his moves yet. He also hasn't had much sleep but that's not important. 

He’s just got into a position that doesn’t fuck with his back or neck or head when the gunfire starts. He jerks upright and shifts into gear automatically as he watches Brad’s group hit the dirt. He takes the Humvee off road before he can blink, can see Patterson running up the line but he isn’t moving fast enough to stop his friends from getting shwacked. He accelerates up the line towards the brain-dead fuckers shooting at their own damn teammates, cutting off the corner. He shouts something as they bump up and down, but he doesn’t know what. 

The gunfire stops just before he pulls up in front of them. He throws the door open, “You dumb motherfuckers! Don’t you realise you’re shooting at marines?!” One of the guys says something stupid back and he feels the anger burning in his chest and he _can’t_ anymore. 

“I’ve got this Corporal.” Patterson says and it brings Ray back. He lets Patterson guide him back to his Humvee, but he wishes it were Nate instead. 

He sits back in his seat and listens to Brad complain on the hook and just breathes, letting his voice – alive and pissed – wash over him and help him push all the shit he’s feeling into a box. By the time Brad and Trombley come back, he’s back in control and whips out a pretty good rant about the kind of drugs Alpha must be on, and how it might be repressed sexual feeling for their – better – counterparts in Bravo, which gets Trombley all riled up and Brad’s eyebrows furrowing deeper than the Marian Trench. 

  


* * *

Ray’s comment of ‘Looks like you’ve won some hearts and minds sir’ eases some of Nate worries, but the dark smudges under his eyes don’t. He supposes that he’s not one to talk: Mike’s been looking at him with more and more concern as the hours pass by, to the point he’s worried that Mike will knock him out just to get some peace. 

The Ripped Fuel from that morning is still in his system so he feels restless as night falls. He still can’t sleep and worse, he’s half hard in his BDU’s, sat next to his Gunny and two of his marines. He bites his lip and tries to push the arousal swirling in his stomach away, but it doesn’t work. 

“I’m going to walk the line.” He says, pushing the Humvee door open. 

“Have fun, come back less hopped up or I’ll get the boys to sing you to sleep.” Mike replies. Nate snorts, imaging the scenario, and heads towards a berm. 

The last time he’d managed a combat jack was just after they'd stepped off. If he’s honest with himself, it wasn’t the lack of time stopping him, it was the stress. Unfortunately, the Ripped Fuel has resurrected and enhanced his already healthy sex drive, making it even harder to ignore than before. He hides in the shadows, not too far away that he’s at risk but far enough that he feels comfortable putting his hand down his pants. At the first touch of his hand, he gasps into the night air: he feels on the edge already. 

He closes his eyes and brings up a memory: he’s hyperaware of the short time he has, and it always goes quicker when he uses a memory. He picks the bar bathroom one: the heat and urgency feel the same. The hand around his cock is suddenly Ray’s and the pants in his ear are his too. 

“Fuck Nate, you look so fucking pretty,” The Ray in his mind says. Nate bites at his lips – like he did then – to stifle a moan. It feels _so_ good. He reaches with his other hand to cup his balls, rolls them gently like Ray does, though his hands aren’t callous in the same way. He can almost feel Ray’s breath on his neck, and he rocks into his hand, grunting as a spark goes up his spine. It doesn’t feel like enough though, so he presses his thumb back to massage his prostate from the outside like Ray does when he’s too impatient to finger him wide. He chokes back another moan, imaging Ray’s clever fingers taking him apart like a radio. The pleasure is sharp and almost painful, but again it isn’t enough. He pants, leaning back against the dirt of the berm and tries a different technique, thumbing the head of his cock. Ray always does it, either with his tongue or his fingers. Nate feels the same curiosity when sliding Ray’s foreskin down. Different but fascinating. 

When he doesn’t get over the edge again, he’s reminded of the time Ray tied him to their bed and worked him up until he was a knifes’ edge, only to leave high and dry, again and again until he’d begged. The only difference is Nate can’t get himself over the edge and there’s no Ray to help him, to laugh and touch him _just_ right. 

“Fuck.” He says to the air, stopping. “Fuck.” 

He tries again and his cock is still fully hard, but the drive isn’t there. “What the fuck?” he asks the night air as he gets his breath back under control. Something’s stopping him, but he can’t work it out. He sighs and waits until he’s back to being half hard to start back to his Humvee. 

He doesn’t settle for more than two hours sleep. 

  


* * *

The next night they’re hauled up in a cigarette factory in the centre of Baghdad. The good night’s rest he’d promised is marred by gun fire coming from the city. The loyalists were using the cover of darkness to wreak havoc in the city and as far as Nate knows, there aren’t any marines policing the street to protect the civilian. So goes another of command’s objectives. 

“I would be right in thinkin’ you’re gonna cut back the uppers.” Mike says conversationally. 

Nate smiles to himself, “Yes, you would be.” He had his last dose a couple of hours ago. Theoretically he would be taking another in the next few hours, but in the reasonably safe walls of the factory, it isn’t needed. It doesn’t, however, fix the problem of the last dose still running through his veins. 

“You gonna talk to Person?” 

Nate gives Mike a side eye, “About what Mike?” 

Mike shrugs, “Anything, his uppers or whatever domestic issue has you pacing every chance you get.” 

Nate sighs and rubs his head. It isn’t so much that they’ve had an issue, it’s more that Nate fucked up, and couldn’t properly apologize while using the Ripped Fuel. He’s also hesitant because Ray seems more withdrawn than ever, and Brad’s Iceman façade is slipping because every time Nate’s seen him looking at Ray, the worry is clear. He’s been kicking himself about that as well, because if they hadn’t fallen out, maybe Ray would’ve come to him. 

“Yeah.” 

“Sooner rather than later Nate.” It feels like an order, especially with the look Mike gives him. He snorts and shakes off his blanket. The Ripped Fuel won’t let him rest so he might as well be productive. 

As luck would have it, he runs into Ray as he walks towards the main building off the factory. 

“Corporal, a word?” he says, keeping his tone level. 

Ray narrows his eyes but nods, “Sure thing sir.” 

There’s an awkward tension as they walk side by side, which Nate doesn’t really know how to fix. He should have come up with a plan because Ray looks at him more and more, the deeper they go into the factory. He almost sighs in relief as he spots a room that’ll be suitable for this talk. He stops inside, away from the window and the single door. They should be out of sight. He turns to Ray and goes to open his mouth when he realises, he doesn’t have any idea what to say. 

Ray quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything to break the awkward silence like he usually would. 

“Are you alright?” Nate blurts out and he immediately wishes he hadn’t said that because Ray’s face closes off and he replies dryly, 

“Peachy sir.” 

“That wasn’t what I- I just” Nate begins to say but cuts himself off before he finishes. Simple Nate, keep it simple, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” Ray says and he sounds tired. 

Nate wants to hug him, but he resists: they need to talk, “For pulling rank in a situation where it was uncalled for. I truly don’t know why I said the things I did; I didn’t handle it in the right way at all.” 

Ray’s face softens and he looks even worse; Nate’s chest aches, “I didn’t know you’d had a run in with Casey Kasum, that would’ve put anyone on edge. Though I did hear you lay the smackdown on him, which is both hot and impressive. Plus… I didn’t exactly handle it right either.” 

Nate nods, “I should have talked to you in the morning, fuck I should have sorted it out then and there.” 

Ray shrugs, “I probably wouldn’t have listened, and you’ve got a lot of shit on your plate, I’m not that big a deal.” 

Nate has to step forward because, “You are to me. I should have-” 

“Nate, you were gonna fuck up. Let’s be real, it’s better it was this and not something that affected the whole platoon. You’re too hard on yourself.” 

“You can be too Ray.” 

“Sometimes.” is all Ray says. There’s something to unpack there, but Nate feels like that would be pushing it. When Nate doesn’t reply, Ray fills the silence by asking, “So is this where we have fantastic make-up sex?” 

Nate feels his cock twitch – as he sighs in relief because he’s _forgiven_ – and he curses internally because the Ripped Fuel takes the twitch and gets him half hard. “I feel like that would be a bad idea.” He says thickly. 

“You know, I liked it better when you were begging for my forgiveness,” Ray says, shaking his head. “now you’re being sensible.” 

Nate’s brain catches on the word begging and reminds him off the night before. He feels himself blush and he looks away, painfully aware that Ray is going to know the look in his eyes. 

“Oh _shit_.” Nate closes his eyes and drops his head as Ray steps forward. 

“It’s the Ripped Fuel.” 

“Really?” Nate shivers because Ray’s breath is right next to his ear. He opens his eyes and grabs Ray’s hips – he has to be on his tip toes to reach – but doesn’t press against him like he wants to. “You been jacking it behind every berm to get the edge off Nate?” Ray asks, his hands curling around the waistband of his pants. 

“No. I can’t…” 

Ray chuckles and his voice is so low, it hits the bottom of Nate’s stomach, “Poor baby, can’t get off. You need me to do it for you, such a fucking officer.” Nate bites his lips and fights with himself for a second. Ray doesn’t push him, hovering close enough that Nate can feel his heat. 

“Hey, Nate look at me.” Ray says softly. Nate drags his eyes up and Ray grins at him, stepping even closer. Nate takes a step back, and several more until he’s pressed against the wall. He grunts as Ray pressed their hips together. “It’s fine, I forgive you and all that shit.” 

“I still feel bad about it.” 

Ray grins, “Make it up to me then.” 

Nate sighs, leaning back against the wall. He looks over at the door, but he can’t see anything and the only thing that can be hear in gunfire. He would’ve liked to say he had the strength for walk away – like he should –, but he didn’t. He slips to his knees and fumbles with the zipper on Ray’s pants. 

“Shit, Nate I didn’t-” 

“I want to.” Nate blurbs out, staring up to where Ray’s looking wide-eyed at him. His stomach drops at the difference, at being on his knees for Ray. Ray’s eyes scan his face and he must find some sort of confirmation because he nods and grips the back of Nate’s neck. Nate whimpers and goes limp: fuck the power trip is messing with his head and the Ripped Fuel makes him feel like he could come right then. 

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Ray whispers, before his voice steels, “You better put that mouth to good use.” 

Nate rushes to nod and get Ray’s cock out of his pants. He feels a rush when he finds it hard and his mouth waters. He doesn’t waste any time getting his mouth around it, tonguing at Ray’s foreskin and the vein on the underside. He tastes like military soap – which isn’t overly pleasant – but after a couple of hard sucks, the taste breaks into Ray’s usually musk. Ray groans above him and the hand on the back of his head tightens; Nate’s eyes slip closed, and he lets his mouth go slack. 

“Oh, you want me to fuck your mouth huh, make me do all the work.” Ray says roughly. Nate has to fight his gag reflex when Ray slides in – he’s not as good as Ray when it comes to deep throating – but Ray just groans, using the hand on the back of Nate’s head to bring him closer. 

“Pinch the back of my leg if you want to stop.” He whispers. Nate hates that Ray knows him so well but at the same time he’s thankful because he can trust Ray give him what he needs. He nods, groans, and lets himself get sucked into the rhythm of Ray’s thrusts. His mind goes blank and for the first time in weeks he feels at ease; it should probably concern him that he reaches this place easiest when he’s on his knees for Ray but, instead it makes him shiver. 

“Fuck LT.” Ray moans. Nate shivers again – he really shouldn’t enjoy Ray calling him that like this – and he feels a thumb brush the side of his mouth. “You look so pretty on your knees. It’s shame I can’t make you beg, but we both know how – _fuck_ – loud you get.” 

Nate feels himself blush and he presses the heel of his hand against his cock through his pants as it throbs. Ray clicks his tongue and Nate whips his hand away like it burns and then groans. Ray laughs between pants above him and the hand on the back of his head rubs a little. It’s a reward and Nate’s sweating in his uniform – he tries to imagine how dishevelled he most look – and he moans again. 

“That’s it Nate, doin’ so good. Not gonna last with your _fucking_ mouth.” 

Ray’s thrust pick up and Nate fists the rough fabric of his uniform to stop himself from touching, and to ground him because he’s lost track of how long he’s been on his knees, with Ray using him to get off. Ray’s breath stutters and groans a quiet, “ _Nate_ -” as he comes. Nate swallows because he doesn’t have a choice and because Ray whines when he does, spurting a last couple of drops. He slides out with care and Nate pants like he’s run ten miles with a log on his shoulder. 

“Come on Nate.” Ray says softly, grabbing under his arms to help him off the floor. Nate bites his lip – he forgets how strong Ray is when it’s hidden by loose BDU’s – and stumbles to his feet. His knees and thighs ache like he’s done PT and he doesn’t have the strength to stand on his own, so he leans back against the wall. Ray steps forward, his hand pressing against the wall either side of his hips and kisses him. Nate lets him set the pace, which is slower and gentler than usual, and tries not to focus on how his cock throbs in his pants, so much it almost hurts. 

“I’ve got you LT.” Ray says, undoing the zipper on Nate’s pants one handed. Nate sighs when Ray’s hand finally wraps around him, the callouses catching on his skin. He manages to move his arms to Ray’s neck, and he settles his head on Ray’s shoulder, rocking into his fist. Ray whispers a stream of things into his ear, but Nate’s brain is too fuzzy to pick up on them, focusing instead on the thumb Ray uses to caress the head of his cock. 

Nate chokes out a groan and Ray hushes him, kissing his cheek, his other hand cradling the back of his head. His hair isn’t long enough for Ray to wrap his fingers in, but Nate imagines the sensation and grunts into Ray’s neck. 

The failure of the night before comes back to his head, and he dreads the feeling of dissatisfaction that’s sure to come, until he feels his balls tighten when Ray pauses to roll him. He twitches his hips – he can’t find his voice to tell Ray – but he doesn’t need to because Ray has his hand back around him, jerking him off fast and rough. 

“Shit,” Nate grits out as he comes. 

He opens his eyes to the sound of Ray chuckling. He rolls his head to the side to look at him and Ray smirks. Nate rolls his eyes and Ray laughs again, pushing him up to stand. Nate blinks, realising he’d been leaning all his weight on Ray. 

“I’d say that was a good apology.” Ray teases, wiping his hand on a rag he must have been carrying. 

“Thank you.” Nate replies hoarsely, even as his ears burn. Ray yawns suddenly and Nate echoes it, his eyes suddenly feeling like lead. “Time to turn in, I think.” Nate says, taking a shaky step forward. Ray nods, rubbing at his eyes with the hand that hadn’t been covered in Nate’s cum. Nate flushes. 

They walk side by side back to the courtyard, closer than when they’d came. Nate brushes the back of his hand against Ray’s and Ray grins at him. The knot that’d been tightening in his chest since that night loosens with Ray’s easy forgiveness. The bars on his collar feels less like a heavy burden, though he knows they’ll weigh a tonne more when he hears their orders tomorrow. 

He looks across to Ray as they pass some sentries. He looks pale, his skin pulled tight over disappearing muscle, and bags under his eyes deeper than Nate’s ever seen before. His stomach tightens and he wants to push, help him like Ray’s helped him, but he looks like he’ll pass out any second. 

“Get some sleep Ray.” He says instead. 

Ray glances over at him and nods with a small smile, “Sure thing LT.” 

  


* * *

Nate finds him in a back room, pressed into a corner, looking out of one of the windows. He slides down beside him and keeps quiet, waiting patiently. 

“Are we the LT or Nate?” Ray asks quietly. 

“Whichever you need.” Nate responds. He should requiem Ray for starting the fight, but he doesn’t see the point. The platoon needs to stay strong – he has no doubt Ray and Rudy will sort this out, neither are the type to hold grudges – for whatever Schwetje and Griego have planned. 

“Nate.” Ray chokes out and Nate opens his arms, wrapping them around Ray’s shoulders. He presses his cheek against Ray’s hair as Ray buries his face into Nate’s neck. His skin becomes damp straight away and Nate bites his lip as his own eyes well. He rubs a hand over the back of Ray’s head and waits. 

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Ray mutters after a minute or so. 

Nate considers his words, “I think this war has taken a lot of out of all us. You’ve been under a lot of pressure Ray, but I’m very proud of you, both as your commanding officer and your boyfriend.” 

Nate feels Ray smile into his neck. It isn’t a word they use very often: Ray complains that it makes them sound like high schoolers instead of badass marines and Nate can’t say he disagrees. 

“You’re being sappy.” Ray complains as he pulls away. 

“I think I’m allowed to be once a year.” Nate jokes. 

Ray snorts and wipes his nose on his wrist, “I’m alright homes, I think the lack of sleep and Ripped Fuel’s fucked with my head.” Nate nods, “I kinda wish I’d got horny like you, it would have been easier.” 

Nate ducks his head and flushes. Ray laughs and he sound a little more like himself. 

“I know you’ll talk it out with Rudy, but make sure to talk to Brad, he looked very worried about you.” 

“Jealous?” Ray asks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Nate rolls his eyes, “No, actually, I’m glad there’re other people that’ll watch over you when I can’t.” 

Ray nods sagely, “It’s ‘cus you want to fuck him, isn’t it?” 

Nate chokes, coughing, “That hadn’t at all crossed my mind.” 

“Sure,” Ray teases. He looks better: the bags are still there and he’s still painfully thin, but the bone deep weariness he’d been carrying around has receded. 

Spreading the weight, his father said, helps the burden. 

Nate threads his fingers through Ray’s and kisses the bruises on his knuckles. It reminds him that Ray needs to see Doc Bryan because there’s a cut above his eyebrow and a dark bruise forming on his cheek. He cups Ray’s jaw to take a closer look at them; Ray lets him, his face so completely open for Nate. He swallows the truly sappy feeling that builds in his chest: there’s only so much softness they can stand in one sitting. 

“Not too awful lookin’?” Ray asks teasingly but with a hint of insecurity. Nate shakes his head and kisses Ray’s temple, above the sluggishly bleed cut. Ray’s face crunches up in digest and he mutters, _“This’s so fucking gay.”_ under his breath. 

Nate snorts and pulls away, dropping Ray’s hand. He grins and raises an eyebrow when Ray scrambles to thread their fingers back together. Ray glares at him. 

“Person!” 

Nate turns to look at Brad, who freezes in the doorway when he sees them. 

“Sir,” he says, dipping his head. 

Nate nods back and they lapse into an awkward silence. It’s Ray who breaks it, waving his free hand at Brad, “Chill homes, I haven’t gone all Texas Tower Shooter,” Nate coughs, “and you’ll be happen to hear that my mission has been complete so you can get one of the many sticks out your ass.” 

Brad nods, “I’ll leave you to your sickeningly sentimental display of ancient Greek values then. Don’t get caught and shot.” 

“A marshmallow, isn’t he?” Ray says when Brad’s shadow disappears from doorway. 

“Do I want to know?” Nate asks instead. The idea that one of his best sergeants is a ‘marshmallow’ is _not_ something he want to dwell on. 

“Nah, I know something that’d be a better use of our time.” Ray wiggles his eyebrows. 

Nate snorts, “Not happening.” 

“Aww, come on Nathanial, live a little.” 

“Maybe after you get your face patched up.” 

“Ouch, Nate, are you saying I’m not pretty enough?” 

“I’m assured that isn’t what I care about.” 

“…Sap.”


End file.
